Page 13 of The Haunting Plot

“But your time and labor…”

“I’m not good at picking out shit. Hell if I know what colors look good together or what’s in style, but I get the feeling you’ll have strong opinions about all that, so pick what you want, and I’ll take care of the install for you.”

Why is that so sexy? He’s calling me out for being opinionated, yet instead of teasing me for it, he is accepting that this is who I am while allowing me to just be. “Okay.”

He takes a step closer to me, and even though there are several feet between us, it feels like he’s inches from me when he speaks. “I gather you’re not a fan of people in your space, but I think it’s necessary to set expectations here.”

I wait for him to say more, but he pauses, doing a slow perusal of my body.

“This will be loud, messy, probably time-consuming. It’ll be inconvenient as fuck, and we’ll butt heads.”

“The renovation, you mean?”

He tugs at the back of his neck, as if debating how honest to be. “Yes, but also no.”

When he continues staring without elaborating, I cross my arms. I feel exposed, like he’s examining every little piece of who I am.

“I’m not good at this.” He waves a hand between us.

“Talking to other adults? Yeah, I gathered that.”

“I like you.”

“Oh.” His honesty stuns me. For once I don’t have a witty retort.

“I know I shouldn’t. Not if we want to have a working relationship. But I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the fire. You should also know that I speak without thinking. I’m impulsive, and I’ll probably disappoint you. So I’m trying something different for once and putting everything out there up front. I want this job because I want to spend more time with you. If you hire me, I will show up for you, I will put in the work, and I will shamelessly flirt with you. And I’m not the least bit sorry about that last part.”

My eyes drop to the floor. I can’t look at him. No one has ever said anything like that to me before, and my brain is racing to analyze, dissect, and process his words. I’ve never really dated anyone. Is this how it normally works? Writing it is easy because it plays out exactly like I want, but actually dealing with another person is new and confusing.

We stand in silence for several moments, and each ragged breath he makes causes the little hairs on the back of my neck to prickle.

“Say something,” he pleads.

“I’ll think about it.”

He sighs as he walks by me and climbs the stairs. I’m struck with the urge to stop him, not wanting him to leave. “My husband died a couple years ago. Heart attack. Sudden. The doctors called it a widowmaker.”

Sawyer freezes on the steps. I focus on the way his back expands with each breath. I have no idea why I’m admitting any of this to him.

“You shouldn’t like me. My life is messy, far more complicated than I’m willing to admit to a practical stranger. I get the initial appeal, but it’ll wear off. It always does. I’m rigid in my ways because I don’t know how else to exist. I’m skeptical. I’m logical to a fault because the black and white makes the most sense.”

He turns and steps down so I can see his face as he grips the railing. “But the gray areas are where all the fun is.”

“I don’t have time for fun.”

“Everyone has time for fun.”

“This is a bad idea.”

He takes a step closer. “My parents died when I was ten. Car accident. Orphan maker.”

I snort a laugh before slapping a hand over my mouth.

“It’s okay, I have a dark sense of humor too. It’s my defense mechanism. But I understand what it’s like to lose someone you love.”

“I lost both of my parents young too.” I pinch my eyes shut. What is it about this man that has me confessing my deepest trauma?

“Do you go to the brunches?”